


kilometer zero

by sweetdanger



Series: N M S + [1]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28611669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetdanger/pseuds/sweetdanger
Series: N M S + [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096496
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	kilometer zero

“I love every second of you.”

Momo’s teeth are stained red.

Sana giggles loudly because she’s Sana, and “it’s _with_ you”, and Momo’s feet are not touching the ground. The sky turns golden as the sun sets, the grass dry and dying, the air still and humid, Momo’s hair is sticking on her forehead. There are so many things to giggle about.

Sana uses her thumb to hide the fact that Momo is a messy eater. It’s the blazing sun and the icky feeling of ice cream that makes her want to go back to her room and wash up.

Momo shakes her head, disagreeing. “Of. I learned.”

Her legs dangle from the high bleachers and it’s hard not to think about her newfound realization this morning: she can see it from here, how Sana is almost the same height as her knees. The extra two inches is hard to accept.

Sana can almost reach Momo’s nose if she tiptoes; her cheeks, her jaw, somewhere else. _If_ she tiptoes. But what about _when_ she tiptoes? What else can Sana reach, and will she _ever_ dare reach it—

It’s hard not to think about.

“It’s _of_ you,” Momo says again with finality as she throws the popsicle stick somewhere; irritating Sana to no end, but Momo would always say it’s biodegradable anyway. “I love every second of you.”

She will jump off now, anytime soon, so Sana slowly backs away, hands behind her back and thinking of how Momo could never do and say anything wrong.

“Okay.” She would want to have this conversation one day. The English grammar, the use of conjunctions, the prepositions. For now it’s enough. And it makes sense. “Let’s go home.”

Momo jumps.

A normal person would cry in pain. But Momo lives in an action movie, she said so herself. She does her own stunts, she said, the respectable actress she is. And there’s— “you think it’s cool, too, right?”— her proud and playful grin.

“What?”

“Me not feeling any pain.”

So, naturally, Sana smiled back.

“I feel it for you.”

This time, she holds out her hand when Momo hits the ground with just a soft thud. As always with them, Momo talks first.

“Don’t give another lecture about your _Sylovian_ joints.”

Momo doesn’t fix her hair, doesn’t brush off the dirt; she doesn’t feel the need to, perhaps she never had to. Her mother would scold her, but right now she is with Sana.

Sana who giggles again when she hears thunder from afar. It’s the kind of scorching summer that comes with a bit of rain.

Sana who isn’t afraid of anything when her hand is in Momo’s. Only when her hand is in Momo’s.

There’s a certain truth to her silent thoughts; Sana holds the universe, and when she says anything— anything at all— it’s like the entirety of it speaks with her.

For now she tucks away this thought, lets it slip from her hand to Sana’s, until it becomes nothing but a fleeting moment. It hurts to stare at the sun for too long.

“Synovial fluid. In the joint space of your knees.” Sana kisses the inbetween of her knuckles. Perfectly aligned planets with their perfect moons. Pulling and pulling. “You shouldn’t jump so high.”

  
  


//

  
  


“There’s something else.”

“Hm?”

Fitting rooms. Tiny and well-lit fitting rooms. Spaces that aren’t made for teenagers who have recently discovered that they want to marry their best friend. It's inappropriate.

“Something else. Like, you should read me Neruda,” Momo says as she squeezes herself in some skinny jeans, “in Spanish, while I sip on cheap wine.”

After two weeks in the elective class, she was already in love with it. _Their words are beautiful,_ she told Momo after learning how to say "heart" in their language. _So beautiful that they use them as names._

“You’re fifteen.”

“You said you won’t say no to me today. It’s just wine.” Momo zips up the jeans. Her shirt is tucked in messily. “You’ll read to me. You’ll sing to me. It looks good, doesn’t it? You’ll tell me I’m pretty.”

The shirt bothers Sana. It bothers her how well-lit this room is, how tiny it is. It bothers her how Momo fits so well in overpriced jeans. It bothers her how this is one of the moments wherein she feels the need to say something but can’t. The need to say something she shouldn’t.

I want you so much and I know you would love to hear me admit it. It bothers me that even in a well-lit space, I see you in a different way; that even in this stupidly designed, pathetic excuse for a space, I want you and only you.

“Hang out the shirt first.” I want her and I would hate it if she doesn’t want me just as much. I want Momo and only Momo. “Didn’t say you should take it off, but okay. Looks nice that way too.”

At fifteen, Momo is breathtaking. Or, at fifteen, they went to about seven fitting rooms in one day. And they were all tiny and well-lit, and tight, and hot, and Sana can’t breathe. It feels inappropriate.

“You’ll read to me.” Momo turns around and Sana wants to poke the dimples on her back. She doesn’t. “Sing to me, tell me I can’t drink yet, and I will learn more from you than I’ve ever done in school.”

Momo pulls down the jeans and throws it in the basket. It leaves her in almost nothing, actually nothing, and Sana is reduced into this worthless collection of dust that desperately longs to touch Hirai Momo.

_“I don’t love her—”_

“Not now!” Momo squeals and puts on her shirt. Now her hair is a mess, just as much as Sana is, and she could never have a braver moment than this. It feels wrong. “Don’t start yet! Not in a place like this!”

Sana laughs along. _“That is certain—”_

“I said later,” Momo says in giggles, “when I have a glass of wine in my hand.”

After this, Momo would have picked up every Spanish word she’s ever learned. Just like she did with English. Momo would start understanding, because she’s that smart, and Sana would move on to the next language.

_“But—”_

_“Pero._ I hear that a lot. _Peropero,_ like licking.” Was Momo aware that she spoke four languages just now, Sana couldn’t be sure. Momo checks herself in the mirror one last time, then smiles softly at Sana who’s blocking the view. Was Momo aware that Sana wants her so much. Is she aware that she’s so wanted. “I really do look like you sometimes.”

“Will you stop interrupting me?”

Sana makes a face. Momo unlocks the door. Sana carries the basket full of unfolded jeans.

“Come on, admit I’m pretty. It means we are both.”

_The next words of this poem are beautiful,_ she told Momo during gym class. Their court was huge and smelled like sweat. They wore ugly shorts.

“I won’t read you anything if you keep interrupting me like that.”

“Like what?”

Momo turns to her, and her shirt is hanging loose, and Sana is holding a basket full of things that touched Momo. It’s so unfair.

“Like that.”

_But,_ it was her third month in the elective class and she could now translate her thoughts into sentences. Momo said she looked cute in those ugly shorts. Her brain did a flip. She needs to study something different next. _I will not finish something so delicate in a place like this._

  
  


//

  
  


They met Nayeon when she was sixteen. They were fifteen. Sana said new girls in town are simply interesting.

It’s unfortunate timing, Momo thinks, when your best friend finds another person she can have fun with. Nayeon holds Sana’s hand when walking and she talks so closely to Sana’s ear that all three of them can fit on sidewalks.

It doesn’t annoy Momo. It’s maddening. And Nayeon always says things that drive her mad. Certain things, such as— “I think Mina likes me.” 

She just does and says whatever.

“Huh?” Sana’s neck almost snaps. Momo knows what this one is called. She’s been reading. It’s the atlas. Just below the skull. For rotation.

And she almost says it too, to impress Sana, but Nayeon is _so_ loud.

“Mina. You remember Mina. Of course you remember—”

Momo would turn the volume down if she could. Nayeon is looking at Sana like she should know; like they should know something that Momo doesn’t. And Momo’s brain is swirling.

It’s probably the heat. And something else. Nayeon has never been to Sana’s room. It’s the only thing Nayeon hasn’t done; the only sweet, silent space Nayeon hasn’t invaded. Momo is glad about the fact that Nayeon lives four streets away from them. It’s only when walking in those four streets that Momo needs to handle this foolishness— the foolishness being the entirety of Nayeon.

After four streets, it’s just Sana and Momo again. At the moment, she slows down her steps and lets her thoughts run. Lets Nayeon do and say whatever.

“I think she likes me very much.”

Sana’s ears perked again when Nayeon said this, mostly because Mina is new to town. And she’s— “isn’t she out of our league?”— very pretty.

It’s the pinna, if she remembers correctly. Sometimes Sana’s pinna turns red. The helix, the pinna. When Nayeon comes too close, it becomes too red.

Momo should tell her this. That she’s getting better at human anatomy. That she’s getting better at noticing things.

But Nayeon lets go of Sana’s hand and puts out her phone to show a picture she took of Mina. And she’s smiling like a little child. It’s not cute, but Momo notices how Sana is looking at that smile and not at the picture that the smile is about.

Momo wonders how many more interesting things Sana has found.

“Out of _your_ league. Not mine.”

Nayeon starts walking backwards. Momo can’t even walk straight without tripping. Nayeon scrunches her nose as she pinches Momo’s cheek, like Momo is something to coo about.

And now Nayeon is just downright hell-sent. Momo swats her hand, not hiding her dislike.

“But ‘Yeonnie,” Sana calls when she’s two steps ahead of them. Momo thinks of all the nicknames her name could form. “We saw her twice. We haven’t even talked to her.”

“No way. You’ve only seen her twice?” Nayeon wears silly hats. Even when it’s hot. Even when it makes her hair stick to her forehead, just like Momo’s when her and Sana spend too much time outside. Sana loves to fix Nayeon’s hair sideways, loves to lend Nayeon her purple handkerchiefs. Momo thinks she only wears those ridiculous things on her head because of the attention she gets. “I’ve met her a couple times in the park. She takes piano lessons nearby. I heard she’s transferring to our school.”

Of course the new girl plays piano.

Nayeon takes a slight curve. It’s her house. Quite smaller compared to Momo’s and Sana’s, but Momo could just imagine how warm it is inside. Nayeon usually smells like butter and cookies.

“Really? Tell me more then!” Sana would smile, and it’s familiar, and beautiful, and fake. Momo should really tell her how she notices things now. “Hey, you can’t go yet!” 

Nayeon waves goodbye teasingly, the hanky still in her hand.

Momo pulls Sana so they could cross the street and asks if there’s any pinch mark on her cheek, adding, “Did you know that our phones are fomites? Nayeon is practically a biohazard.”

_Sana,_ but she isn’t listening, _did you hear what I said,_ at least not as intently as she usually did. _She touched my cheek._

Instead, Sana stops walking. Looks back at Nayeon from far across. She waves her arms again, jumping up and down so high that Nayeon could see her head above the passing cars; that Momo wanted to remind her, Sana, you shouldn’t jump so high.

“Later!” She shouts. “I’ll come over later!”

Nayeon’s growing smile was an awful sight.

Momo walks ahead of Sana but the girl quickly recovers from her jumps, bumping shoulders with Momo once she finally caught up. There’s a pinkish mark on Momo’s cheek that feels like it’s burning red.

She has never been to Nayeon’s room.

  
  


//

  
  


Mina can’t ride bikes.

But another thing is that Mina is good at everything. Could be good at anything. She had one small scratch and that was it. After a few weekends, she can already outrun Momo. It made Nayeon ecstatic.

“I didn’t know it could be this fun.” Mina wipes cold sweat from her forehead. “Thank you for taking me here.”

Sana cups her mouth— “she didn’t know it could be this fun!”— and her words were swept away by the November wind. It bites nowadays.

“Have you guys done your homework?” Mina asked. “Can I eat this sandwich?” which both earned a “yeah, sure” and “I have more here!” and then, of course, “come again?”

Mina was quiet for a moment, quieter than she often was. Maybe because there is no one else but them up here.

“I told you, we have the same Homeroom professor.” Mina takes in the view from where she stands. “So we get the same Homeroom… homework.”

She tilted her head to the side when she said that. Momo found it so adorable that she shook her own. Mina isn’t the new girl anymore, but still just as interesting.

They park their bikes in a messy line. Sana removed her helmet while Nayeon sat close to the edge of the cliff. Her scarf almost flew away. Momo was looking at Mina, anticipating her answer.

Whose name did you write?

But Sana and Nayeon beat her to it— “who did you write about?” and “what the hell is that homework?”

“You always talk like this.” Mina sits behind Nayeon, just in front of a big rock. She bites the sandwich.

“Like what?” Three times, in chorus.

Mina shakes her head, smiling. “Like that.”

Sana sat next to Nayeon, leaned on her hands and closed her eyes. Momo passed bottles with hot honey-lemon inside.

Momo waits for Sana to open her eyes before she proclaims, “I wrote the obvious answer”— and then she sat, too, on the other side of Nayeon— “for the essay.”

“Oh, the essay!” Nayeon remembers. “When is that due? Wait a minute!”

Sana raises her hand to give Momo a high five, but the poor girl is gripping Nayeon’s arms.

Nayeon pushed her sideways and she swore her scream was heard by her mother on the other side of town.

“Momo!” Nayeon gasps. “How dare you not put me as your best friend?!”

“I didn’t even say anything and you almost pushed me off this _goddamn_ —” 

“Meh.” Nayeon shrugs. Momo’s heart is pounding. “I will write the obvious, too, so I take no offense.”

_Who’s the obvious,_ Momo wanted to ask, but she’s still recovering from her near-death experience. _It isn’t obvious. Who is it?_

“I wr— isn’t this supposed to be a secret?” Sana bites on a poorly cut strawberry and then nods. Who cuts strawberries like this? “It’s supposed to be a secret. Not saying anything. Let’s read it after we get our grades.”

Mina points at a cloud, says it’s shaped like her dog. She proceeds to talk about how her dachshund follows her around, always wanting to be by her side.

_We weren’t even talking about dogs,_ Momo kept this one to herself. _Sometimes, Mina,_ _I wonder what you dream about. I wonder if you dream about—_

To think that this girl was intimidating at first. With all that soft and quiet image, _super-smart-student-from-the-States,_ or however high Nayeon had described her. Now all that comes out of her mouth makes Momo’s heart clench. All that she sees, Momo wants to hear about them.

Mina leans on the rock behind her and closes her eyes. She is at the center of the world right now and she doesn’t even know. Nayeon points at another cloud, says it’s shaped like a bear. Sana squints her eyes. It wasn’t a bear, she said. More of a hamster.

Their shoulders touch. Sometimes Sana would smell like cookies. And Momo would patiently wait for Mina’s eyes to open.

  
  


//

  
  


After four streets, they are alone again.

“Sana.” Momo gets courage from the sun setting behind them. Tight hold on her bike. There’s a good word she picked up. “It’s intricate, what I wrote.”

“Hm?”

“Intricate.” 

“Ah.” Sana’s eyes are so brown, and the air is getting colder, and the sky is of a rosy hue. They could switch languages easily and not even notice it. “You seem to be learning a lot.”

“I am. I’ve read all the books you lent me. My tutor said I have smart friends.” Momo hits the brakes though she didn’t have to. They were on their feet anyway. Sana doesn’t stop humming. Momo knows that this is okay, that Sana is still listening, even though she’s now a few spaces away. “I talk about you a lot.”

I want to write about you more.

“I know, you tell me all the time.”

“So you already know I wrote about you. I always will. I always write _to_ you.” Momo walks again, but this time, slower. “There are a dozen letters in your room all signed by me. Why do you want to read this one?”

Momo’s courage made Sana laugh. It’s beautiful, like Mina’s piano. And just like when she shouted atop the cliff, the wind swallowed her words once again.

“I didn’t say I wanted to read it.”

“But you do. Do you know what I wrote? Hey, wait up.” There’s a gnawing feeling in her chest, just beneath her heart, the 5th intercostal space. I want to write to you more. “I talked about the tree we decorated and our wishes in the socks. And you will write about me, won’t you?”

Sana can’t even disagree when Momo is like this. There’s something so agonizing with waiting for the perfect moment. Something so painfully right about not ruining the imperfect ones.

“If you talked about those days, then you also talked about Mina and Nay—” Sana looks over her shoulder as Momo runs. She smiles and it’s all Momo would think about later when the sky turns into a darker shade. “Are we in a hurry?”

I want to write for you more. I want to be by your side.

“No,” Momo says, out of breath. Sana will always be a few steps ahead. “I just want to match your pace.”

“Oh.”

“You walk fast.”

“Oh.” Sana slows down. Right now the sky is a mix of purple and pink. The clouds are shaped like childhood and dreams, storing the nostalgia they have yet to feel. Momo turns to a curve and Sana follows. “If you let me sleep in your bed, I will write about those things, too.”

“Okay. Deal.” Momo pauses again. “I think Mina wrote about Ray.”

  
  


//

  
  


Everything stayed the same. That was clear.

Except they have Nayeon and Mina now wherever they go.

They buy four popsicles. They line up four bikes. They need a longer bench to sit on in the park. One always sits on the swing, the other one would follow and sit on the other swing. And then they won’t need the benches nor the swings anymore, because Mina would want to go to Momo’s house.

And they go wherever Mina goes.

Everything stayed the same.

Except Momo has long forgotten what she was even comparing the present to. What were they like before this, when it was just her and Sana? Everything was the same and everything was moving too fast. The swirling is too much.

“Can you believe we’re almost done with high school?”

Everything looks the same.

Except Mina would brush her skin against Nayeon’s and Nayeon would blush, and Sana would kick her jokingly, and Momo would silently question if it really was done jokingly.

“You’re almost done,” Mina says with a pout; using Nayeon’s way of talking against her but with a cute twist. “You’ll leave me all alone in this old town while you travel the world and learn new things.”

Mina would lean her head back on Momo’s knee. Sana is tucked warmly in Momo’s arm. Nayeon is almost sitting on Sana’s feet.

And it’s like they form a little square that’s shaped much more like love rather than Saturday movie nights.

“You’re so small I could fit you in my pocket,” Nayeon says without looking at Mina. They’re holding hands under the blanket. “I’ll carry you in it and you’ll never be alone.”

Except none of them knew anything about love at that age. Momo is aware of this. They only know Saturdays, and movies, and nights like this.

“She’s right,” Sana says. “We’ll be graduating. Not leaving.”

Momo shifts. What does that even mean?

“It’s practically the same,” Mina murmurs while picking on the carpet. Momo shares the thought.

The shape gets broken too quickly because Sana goes on her random outbursts of ranting and talking as she lies her head on Momo’s lap. Now the shape is irregular but still comfortable, and Momo doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Anyway, I was there, in the hallway—” Sana tucks her hands under her head and looks at the ceiling. Momo pokes her cheek. “And this guy—” Sana pretends to chase and bite her finger “I didn’t know his name—” Momo puts it away and back again “asked me to the dance—”

Which received an “ew, why are you telling us this,” “Sa-tang, you have a date?”, and an “I didn’t know you were coming to the dance.”

Everyone turns to stare at Momo. “What?”

“What do you mean you didn’t know?” Nayeon knits her brows together. As if this is common knowledge. As if Momo should know. “We’re all going. Even Mina is coming.”

Mina nods. As if Mina knows, yes, I am going. We’re all going. Aren’t you?

Momo drops her finger from Sana’s cheek. “Oh. I wasn’t invited.”

“It’s automatic, duh.” Sana rolls on the couch and props her chin on her hands. “We’ll pick dresses together.”

That wasn’t the important question here, really. “You said yes to the guy?”

Sana’s mouth pauses. Momo knows this because she was looking at it. “Uh, yeah, I did. Who was I to turn him down?”

You’re Sana.

“Right,” Momo clears her throat. You’re Sana. “Okay”— you’re Sana— “let’s go to the dance”— Mina rubs her knee, _she’s Sana,_ and maybe there’s something else she knows— “help me with my dress, yeah?”

“Yes!” Sana starts another one of her energy outbursts— jumping on the couch. You’re Sana. “And when the first snow comes, I don’t know, maybe after the dance,” she says, short of breath, “I want to get my first real kiss.”

You’re Sana.

The announcement was met with an array of comments: “just don’t do it in front of us”, “make sure to brush your teeth”, “what does it mean, your first _real_ kiss?”, “the first snow will come anytime now.”

The last one was from Momo.

Sana blushes fervently. And Momo really, honestly, doesn’t quite know what to make of it. Too much swirling.

“Well.” She goes back to Momo’s lap, her heart beating loudly. It’s difficult to predict the first snow accurately. You’re Sana. You’re Sana, didn’t you know? “I want my kiss to come anytime now.”

My Sana.

  
  


//

  
  


“She’s so—”

“Annoying?”

“Every _damn_ day! You know when she’s all—”

“All up in your face?”

“God, _yes,_ and—”

“You hate that you like it.” Sana watches her walk around the room. Fingers tapping her chin like she’s trying to solve Momo’s— “You hate that you like her.”

“Yes— _no.”_ Momo groans. Plops on the bed. It’s exhausting. High school is exhausting. Glad she’s almost done with it. “No, not in that way. Actually, not in _any_ way. If it hasn’t been clear, I despise her. I just needed to let it out.”

Sana stands up from the chair and walks slowly to Momo. It’s the path that Momo has long memorized. Sana always moves like this, like she’s mooring towards her and it doesn’t matter which direction she came from. The endpoint is always Momo.

“Aww, _Momo-chan’s_ got a little crush?”

And Momo is always in bed. _“Wh—”_

“You’re smart.” She’s straddling her, holding Momo’s face between her palms, squishing it like a plush toy. She’s giggling, like there’s so much to giggle about. Momo can’t breathe. “You’re one of the most intelligent people I know.”

_“Get off—ugh—_ Sana—”

“You’re brave,” Sana whispers as she tucks some strands of hair behind Momo’s ear. “And strong. And curious. And kind.” Momo should look like a little duck with how Sana’s squishing her face. “Liking a girl isn’t going to change that.”

There’s a small misunderstanding here, Momo could have said.

It’s not Nayeon, she could have argued.

But Sana is on top of her, and Momo can’t breathe.

“You’re pretty, Momoring.” She’s smiling fondly. Stars in her eyes and everything. Momo can’t breathe. “So pretty.”

“Okay— now will you _please—”_

“You know you’re beautiful. I tell you all the time.” It was better when Sana was squishing her cheeks because her hands were on her cheeks, focused on her face. But now Sana’s hands are on Momo’s neck, on her chest, on her bones, on her skin— her nose is on her neck, breathing on Momo’s chest, bones, skin— “Just like how you talk about Nayeon all the time.”

I really don’t, Momo wanted to say. My God, do I do that? Talk about Nayeon all the time?

“And that’s okay. You should be happy.” Sana’s hands are in her hands. Maybe the misunderstanding here is huge after all. “It’s okay. It seems like Nayeonnie’s everybody’s crush.”

Sana’s lips are on her knuckles now, kissing them one by one. And Momo is reminded of how Sana’s first kiss went like. 

“It’s not okay. That’s not what I meant. And what do you mean by _everybody’s crush?_ Who has a crush on—” But Sana was already out the door, wearing her scarf and her coat. “Where are you going?”

_In the hallway, after the dance._

“Come.” Sana holds out her mitted hand. “Let’s go home.”

_Against the lockers. Out of breath._

“You know what I mean. Let’s go.”

Momo looks around her room; feeling quite at home and not actually knowing what Sana means.

Sana rolls her eyes. Lips forming into a playful smile. “Just come with me.”

Momo is reminded of how her first kiss went like.

  
  


//

  
  


“Oh.” Momo is eighteen and there’s two months until graduation. Leaving town was always the first choice. “Here.”

“Here. Where else?” Sana pats the space next to her. She’s handing out a bottle of warm honey-lemon water. “You know, I think I will miss you the most.”

“Of course you will.” Momo takes the bottle and sits beside her best friend. Their hands are centimeters apart. And it’s not like this doesn’t happen every day. They touch each other every day. It’s just that this is happening now. Two months before graduation. “Obviously.”

“You think so, too?”

You’re Sana. Of course you’ll miss me.

“About Nayeon—”

“Thank you.” Sana drinks from her bottle. “For being honest with me.”

You’re not letting me finish, Momo wanted to say.

She guesses this is the part where she should be sensitive. The part where she should notice how Sana moved an inch further and it feels like they are realms apart. Sana is looking at the landscape, not at the changing colors of the sky, not at the clouds. Sana won’t hear another sentence.

You don’t want to talk about it, do you, she should have asked. Why not?

This is the part where she should notice how Sana is trying not to think of her first kiss. Sana doesn’t want to be here, with her. Sana is uncomfortable.

Momo moves until her shoulder reaches the huge rock. She mindlessly traces the markings on it as she returns to the conversation before.

“Of course you will miss me, Sa-tang,” Momo says in their language. She tries to think of other things. Other interesting things. “You will write to me every day and never stop thinking about me.”

Momo hears Sana laugh. It was familiar, and beautiful, and absolutely fake. There haven't been many things to laugh about lately. Her silhouette is against the thin fog and the fading street lights. The view is so heavenly that Momo is starting to believe that leaving was never her first choice. She wills her mind to stop swirling; at least not right now, please. Because Sana is crying. And Momo might cry, too.

“You will see me in everything,” she adds, “when you’re fitting clothes for the world’s top models. You would wish they were me because I fit in all your designs. Because you think of me while you sketch.”

Sana leans on her hands. Now Momo’s shoes are touching Sana’s fingertips.

“Not true. Sometimes it’s Mina on the brain.”

“Don’t we all have Mina on the brain sometimes?”

Sana drinks again. She sniffs, too. She’s switching languages so smoothly that Momo doesn’t understand her.

“Behind you is kilometer zero,” Sana tells. Her voice is clear and the wind is not moving. The fog stays. Momo wants to comfort her. Behind her is a rock. It's only a rock. “In front of us is the future. Our future.”

“And cities,” Momo says. She opens the bottle to drink. “And dreams.”

Momo should comfort her.

“And cities and dreams,” Sana echoes. She leans further back until her head is in between Momo’s feet. “And probably more.”

Momo downs the small bottle in five big gulps.

“You know,” Momo coughs, teary-eyed. “You could have warned me this is wine.”

“Please, you love it.” Sana giggles. From here, Momo could see the smile on her lips. And it is familiar, and beautiful, and absolutely heart-wrenching. They are both thinking of their first kiss. “You’ll miss me, won’t you, Momoring?”

How could Momo comfort her when she’s the one making Sana uncomfortable?

“Maybe,” she jokes. “Perhaps your language and anatomy lessons.”

Sana’s chest is going up and down, and Momo wants to say, these are your lungs expanding and contracting and keeping you alive. There is so much to live for.

“I never thought you’d take up a pre-med.” Sana thinks out loud. “I heard it’s horrible. Sorry about that. Is it because of me?”

Everything is because of you. You’re Sana. I live for you.

Momo wants to crawl to her and kiss her forehead. Momo hugs herself instead. 

“When you’re finally a doctor,” Sana lists down, “and Nayeon’s an astronaut, and Mina’s a composer— and if you ever find the time—”

_“When_ we find the time.”

“It’s _if_ _,”_ Sana insists. “Call me. If you ever find the time.”

Momo wants to be comforted. “Of course we will. I will.”

Sana stands up. Momo was scared she would fall. It wasn’t honey-lemon in her bottle for sure.

“Call me.” Sana wraps herself snuggly in her scarf again. Momo hasn’t stood up yet, just watching how Sana moves. Always one step ahead. This time, Momo isn’t sure where she is heading. “I’ll slow down and come running back to you.”

Momo stands up and wonders what could have been the difference if Sana said _for you_ instead of _to you._ They walk back together hand-in-hand, the sky pitch-black and the streetlights as their only guide. Sana doesn’t say what she can’t and Momo lets the moment slip again.


End file.
